Odds and Ends
by Love and Rock Music
Summary: Newly posted: Edmund and Lucy discuss monarchy and a certain seafaring king's marital status.
1. INDEX

**A/N:** This isn't a story, exactly - it a bunch of oneshots and spin-offs from my different works. Sometimes readers ask for them, other times I write them just for fun. Either way, they usually can't stand alone as stories (and I figure my different fandoms would get annoyed with me for posting little additions constantly), so I decided to give them a home here, in the Misc. X-overs section. And it does fit, technically, since my stories span different fandoms and universes. Kind of.

This first chapter is an index of what's where. I try to group similar things together, but it all moves around a lot, so reviews may not be attached to the chapter they were originally intended for. To start us off, at the bottom of this page is a stylistic snapshot of Lucy's POV during her confinement in TCotH. Enjoy.

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INDEX:

2. TCotH Additional Dream Sequence - An extra dream of Lucy's, cut from The Call of the Horn.  
3. LBG Chapter 2 Director's Cut: Fight! - An AU-storyline from Like Broken Glass, in which Edmund actually fights those guys.  
4. Peter in LBG - Reader-requested appearance of Peter in Like Broken Glass, continued from the Director's Cut.  
5. Forward (Long Version) - The original cut which contains a oneshot framing the seven scenes.  
6. Aeons - An out-of-nowhere VotDT ficlet. Lucy and Caspian have a conversation about age.  
7. Mind to Heart - Another Dawn Treader ficlet. Edmund and Lucy chat about monarchy and Caspian's marital status.

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**Overall Disclaimer:** These stories are fan-made works based off The Chronicles of Narnia, by C. S. Lewis, and Gilmore Girls, created by Amy Sherman-Palladino; copyrights included but not limited to C. S. Lewis Pte. Ltd, and The WB and CW networks. No infringement is intended.

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. . . can't stay in here anymore, i can't, i can't. dark. . . cold. . . remember, remember the sky. the narnian sky, bluer than anything with clouds like cotton. like cream. like susan's puffy dresses. susan? susan, worried about susan, we're all worried about her. edmund and peter most of all, but they don't know, don't know what susan whispers sometimes in her sleep. horrible things, they don't like what she does now and where she goes and who she hangs round with. but she hasn't done anything like what i have. hugs, kisses, arms around me and skin is the only warm thing. skin. bare skin, caspian's skin, his skin my skin and it's wrong but i don't care. teeth and skin and lips on skin - his or mine? and when they said it was good and special they lied because it's so much more and i can't believe i lived my whole life both lives without knowing it was like this. but it was wrong, wrong, wrong, and i went against everything and i knew he was married, i did, because i remember how he looked at her and jill told me so anyway. aslan - aslan can't touch me anymore because i touched caspian and he held me and i tasted him, and that little girl is gone forever. forever, forever, goodbye. like a ship past the horizon. like water down the pipes. like a bird to the sky. the wide sky, the narnian sky, bluer than anything. . .


	2. TCotH Additional Dream Sequence

**A/N:** This one will take a bit of explaining.

To put it the short way, this is another of Lucy's nightmares that I chose to omit from The Call of the Horn – I figured two were enough, and anyway I like how elements of both dreams were in the birthing chapter: water, the forest, running, and a bit of magic. This one is a nightmare about the birth itself. (In my universe, Lucy has acted as a midwife during the Golden Age – that's expanded from the idea of her cordial – so she did have some inkling as to what childbirth would be like.)

If you really want to get into it, this dream was the product of many long ponderings about the effect of Star's blood, or lack thereof, in Rilian's lineage. We known that Ramandu's daughter was uncommonly beautiful, wise, and removed. Later she is called gracious and happy, but within her initial characterization there is something distinctly other about her. In canon Rilian inherits these conditions; in my universe, he is the son of Lucy and so forfeits anything to be gained from being one-quarter Star. So I asked myself, what can I do to achieve that same strangeness through Lucy's part? The answer was a planned companion piece in which I would show the darker side of the story. Basically, Lucy goes though depression, and a little bit of schizophrenia and substance abuse. She starts taking drops of her cordial for no reason, and drinking some of the water Caspian brought back from the world's end. . . so maybe, a few things go funny with the pregnancy – but only as funny as being half Star.

Of course, you can only bend things so far before some point breaks into the AU, and in this case it was Lucy's character that took most of the weight and was pushed into OOC-ness. I chucked the idea, but not before writing this dream sequence that utilizes some of those plot elements. Enjoy.

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_It was more terrible than anything she had ever endured. She shrieked again, the hoarse scream barely leaving her. She was too exhausted, and too many screams had passed from her lips to make much sound now._

_Still, the pain was ripping, tearing, so awful that it wrenched another scream from her throat. She bunched her fingers tightly around the grasses, but it helped only very little. She wanted her cordial, oh, she needed it so badly, to drink it all down in one gulp._

_Finally, _finally_, it was over. Tears of relief were streaming down her face. The baby – tiny, golden, and perfect – was held out before her and she stared in wonder. Rilian was the most perfect thing she ever laid eyes on. His eyes were blue, like hers, and his little toes wiggled out from the blanket. She was still crying, but no longer from the pain._

_Lucy raised her arms – so weak a moment ago – to collect her son. But the white hands that held him drew the baby back._

"_Thank you,_"_ said a high, icy voice, _"_for my son._"

_Her heart went cold. No – _no_ – it couldn't be! But Lucy raised her eyes and saw, with unmistakable terror, the figure of the White Witch._

"_Give me my baby,_"_ said Lucy, trying to be brave._

"_This child is mine,_"_ answered the Witch in her horrible voice, and Lucy's skin prickled. _"_He is mine by right, by royal and magical claim. . . Did you never guess what might happen? That there would be no consequences for what you had done?_"_ She laughed. _"_A child – nephew to the High King! – raised in darkness, fed on fire-flower juice and silver water from the world's edge? He will be extraordinary, and he is mine. A Prince of Darkness._"_ She laughed again and the baby squirmed in her arms. _"_Little Lucy, did you forget? The greatest evil is born from innocence._"

_The Witch laughed harder than ever at her words, and Lucy shrieked, _"_No! You can't have my baby!_"_ She fumbled around, trying to find the strength to rise from the ground, to stand up and defend her son – but she was worn and weary, and her muscles would not obey her. A racing panic flooded through her veins and she drew great, gasping breaths._

_Heavy, pounding footsteps in the grass, and Caspian was there. He stood behind her, a warm leg against either shoulder, bracing her, and she felt a very little better. He drew his sword at once and pointed it straight at the Witch. _"_Release my child, harridan, and your life may be spared,_"_ said Caspian._

_Lucy bit her lip hard enough to taste blood. Caspian didn't realise – didn't know who this woman was, and what power she held – how foolish and empty his threat sounded. Her mind groped for a way to communicate this, to convey her identity to Caspian, but she couldn't think of one._

"_Are you deaf as well as defiant? Heed my words, or face your end,_"_ added Caspian, raising his swordblade. Lucy cringed._

_The Witch gave a soft chuckle, as if she hadn't heard him. Rilian fussed a little and she inclined her head to kiss him. And then, like lightning, the Witch flashed her wand through the air and Lucy felt cold stone at her back. . ._

_Every space of breath left her. Not Caspian, no, no, not Caspian – Lucy was choking, unable to breathe, as though she were drowning. She screamed until her throat burned like fire, shrinking away from the stone pillars behind her. She wept and wailed and the world spun, and when she looked up, Rilian and the Witch were gone._


	3. LBG Chapter 2 Director's Cut: Fight!

**A/N:** Here's the answer – What if Edmund _did_ get into a fight with all those guys? Ten against one. . . Can a displaced king win such a fight, without his weapons and all the advantages to the other side?

I wrote this as mostly a challenge to myself - I've never done a direct action sequence before, so bear with me if it's boring. Thanks very much to Sanaryelle, who influenced my fight-writing style in her brilliant story, A Faun's Tale.

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Robert caught the look in his eye. "Edmund, don't do anything foolish. There are ten of them and one of you."

Edmund ignored his friend, and hastened into the ring of spectators around Lucy. She was singing one of the autumn harvest songs, rather badly and quite off-key. The men around her sniggered at her performance: Lucy was moving her arms in a ridiculous parody of the sacred dance.

"_Until the new year springs  
The Lion's breath will blow  
Flowered fruits will grow  
And we will dance again,_"

she finished. Broken applause, accompanied by scoffing laughter, followed. Lucy giggled and made a bow. "That's the song for the end of the Autumn Festival," she said. "There's a lovely dance, too, for the trees – " Her voice broke off, sounding saddened, and Lucy took another long swallow of her drink.

"Ed!" she exclaimed, spotting him. "Everyone! King Edmund the Just has made his arrival! All cheers to my royal brother – come to join us in song!"

The men eyed him wantonly, looking him up and down. Almost all of them were taller than he, but Edmund met their stares evenly, unafraid. Lucy was still blithering on, "– my new friends, Ed. This is Jack, and Willie, and Ralph, and – er – Jack, and –"

"Lu," he said firmly, "I'm taking you home."

"What? No! I'm telling them all about Narnia! I told them all about you too, and the way you fought at Beruna. They're very impressed."

Edmund was unyielding. "No, Lu. You've got to come home."

"I don't want to!"

A tense silence followed her words, broken by indistinct muttering from the group around them. Several dark looks were cast in his direction. Edmund's pulse shot up and a foreboding rose in the pit of his stomach – there was trouble here. He knew he needed to get Lucy away from these men quickly, before there was time for anything bad to happen.

Edmund seized her arm and made to forcibly take her off the stool. One of the men clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You heard the princess. She doesn't want to go with you." The unspoken threat couldn't be clearer.

Most unhelpfully, Lucy chose that moment to chime in, "Queen! I'm a queen!"

"Of course you are," said one the others smoothly.

Edmund tugged on her hand a little. He met her eyes and narrowed his own very slightly – as gesture that, in any lifetime, communicated importance and dire necessity. Had Lucy been in her normal state, she would have acted immediately. Right now, though, she did nothing but stick her tongue out at him.

Suddenly Edmund felt a mad desire to laugh. He couldn't believe he was here, at this ridiculous party, arguing with his drunken _younger_ sister. Lucy! Who never did anything insensible, who didn't even like parties! (At least the sort of parties they had here in England.) Was this really happening, or had he fallen asleep in his armchair?

He shook himself and tried to concentrate on the present.

"Look, I'm not going for any trouble. I just want to take her home."

"Yeah? Well, we want her to stay," said the beefiest of the lot. "Isn't that right, chaps?"

A chorus of agreements answered back.

Edmund was still holding her outstretched arm. The bloke who'd just spoken ran his hand over the length of her white skin – right there, in front of him! His muscles tensed, and his breathing suddenly felt rather constricted. Had it been at all possible, he would have dearly loved to take a sword to this man's throat.

"Don't touch her like that. Please," he said, low and dangerous. His mouth had tightened of its own accord.

With nerve Edmund could hardly believe, the fellow gave him a bold smirk and repeated the gesture. The calloused hand moved slowly up and down Lucy's arm. Edmund felt his fingers curl into fists. He was caring less and less for propriety with every second that passed, and he was quite prepared to act on her behalf. . .

But then he noticed Lucy's face and it nearly made him gag up his supper. Her expression was one far too old and much too foreign on her young face. Her eyes were shut and her lips parted in some semblance of a smile, and as he watched her, she gave a pleasured tilt of the head. Her body language spoke quite clearly: she was _enjoying_ his caresses. To Edmund, it was nauseating. She looked like – and he hated himself for thinking it – one of the slave dancers at the Calormene court; or at the very least, one of those pin-up models. It scared him. Lucy looked far more grown-up than even _he _had known her to be, than he had ever seen Susan act. His stomach turned, and he wanted to be sick. This _wasn't_ the sister he knew.

Edmund had no idea why Lucy was behaving in such a manner, but whatever the reason, it wasn't good. He also knew that this would never have happened, had Susan let Lucy alone tonight: No other explanation was needed. Blood boiling, he wound up his arm and hit the man right in the face.

He reacted instantly and Edmund moved to evade him, but wasn't quick enough. The brute popped him one right in the jaw. Lucy screamed and Edmund rotated his mouth – it was a bit of a shock, as he hadn't had a real fight in a few years, but at the same time, somehow refreshing. He'd forgotten what it was like to indulge his aggressive side and assume the stance of the proven warrior he was. And so for the first few blows, Edmund enjoyed himself. He was hit pretty rough in the shoulder, but he got in a few good punches himself. The pair of them moved about the room, knocking chairs over, though Edmund was careful to steer them away from Lucy on the stool. And although this fellow was harder and older, Edmund had fifteen years' worth of experience and expert instruction. A punch or two, a few elbows, and a dodge-and-duck, and he'd overpowered his opponent: The beefy prat who tried to play up his sister was snoozing on the floor.

Edmund stood there, breathing heavily, in an eternal moment of silence. It had been wrong, yes, but also satisfying – now, he could fetch Lucy, and go home to figure this all out. . . Then his brain caught up with him.

As if on cue, all the rest of them started moving in, ready to finish what he'd just started. They all gathered in on him – and Edmund realised what exactly he had gotten himself into.

Arms hailed down on him, blow after blow all over – he was at the centre of an awful struggle. Someone got him just below his right eye, and it smarted something fierce as he threw punch after punch in whatever direction he could. From the muddle of bodies and flying fists, he glimpsed Lucy sitting frightened on her seat. "Lucy! Get out of here!" he yelled, hoping she'd gotten her senses together enough to listen. A blur the colour of her dress flew by in his distant vision, and he breathed a sigh of relief. But as there were four other men around – that he could manage to count – he couldn't really bother much about Lucy, as long as she was safe.

Edmund racked his brains and tried to improvise a strategy. Logically, it wouldn't make sense to keep lashing out blows in any which way – there were five or six fellows ganging up on him, and it wouldn't be any good to think them all as one entity. He tried to focus each strike on a particular person, and go for eliminating them one by one. It was more difficult in action that in thought, but he'd been in much worse scrapes – though perhaps not such close quarters. The mass of bodies, muddle of movement, and confusion of shouting and grunting made it hard to implement any sort of organisation.

He was somewhat aware of the stir he was causing – Edmund recognised the sound of shuffling feet and voices outside the thick of things. But that was quite separate from his consciousness: During a battle, or a fight like this one, his mind split into different layers of awareness. There was his iron core, his true self, aware of everything – the location, his injuries, and what was going on around him, that held the courage to go on and the beliefs and moralities on whose behalf he had acted. Then there was the layer of his mind which knew how to block out pain and force himself onward. Above that there was also his third eye, aware of what existed outside of the struggle and the ramifications of his actions. But most of him was totally directed on the here and now – the fist coming at him from the left, the swinging kick from the right. He ducked, hit back, and slid away – the movements were pure instinct, honed over years of practice.

Edmund hit the man nearest with an upward drive just below the chin, and in his immediate daze after, sent a second blow right to the temple. It was a move he'd picked up during the year of service he and Peter had spent on board the _Ardent Majesty_ – one of several of a broad range of skills they'd learnt during the voyage. The rough-style fighting they were taught (which had been quite different from the sword-to-sword combat they were used to) was certainly coming in handy now. Someone banged a hard fist down on the crown of his head (apart from the action, his true self noted the bitter irony). Dizzied, Edmund dealt out another double-punch and knocked his second man down.

"Edmund!" he heard Robert call exasperatedly. He groaned inwardly - had Robert hopped into the action? He was shouting something, but Edmund couldn't really listen as he was fighting three different pairs of fists.

All were on him at once, but he did the best he could. Edmund sent a harrowing blow towards the man closest and elbowed the one behind him in retroaction. The first one tumbled down and the bloke behind him started coughing like mad; he went to turn and deliver another blow, but the man on his left gave him a hard knock right in the ribs that took wind out of him. Gasping, Edmund darted out from between them and gave him a good bang on _his_ left. Then he shoved the coughing man forward: he fell over a footstool, and was still.

The last one was the second-largest, and a hard player – though the game was far from over. As they faced each other in the tiny pause of challenge, Edmund could see another man coming from behind. He made his fist right and purposely too wide; the bloke's head whipped round to follow it and Edmund hit him on the left cheek. He moved to finish him, but he suddenly received a solid jab to the back of his head and fell forward on his knees. Stars winked in front of his eyes, but he used the lower standing to the best advantage – and sent a blow right in the stomach of the one he'd meant to finish off. He crumpled forward and Edmund felt a brief heartening. . . until a forceful kick hit him square in the back, sending him flat on his chest. His chin slammed onto the wooden floor, and he had a close-up view of the shoes belonging to the bloke he'd seen approaching not half a minute earlier.

His head was pounding horribly, but Edmund forced himself to think clearly and try to keep on: he had two to deal with now. He'd always had a swift, agile fighting style and it didn't desert him now – Edmund rolled over and knocked the legs out from under one of them, and made sure he wouldn't be rising again with a nimble blow to his forehead. The other swore loudly and bent down to slap his mate awake; borrowing a trick of Peter's, Edmund grabbed his arm and used it to support himself up.

The combined effects of gravity and the man's attempt to shake him off were enough to send Edmund's head spinning again, but he managed to get his stance back and find his bearings. He took a moment to inhale deeply, a trick he'd learned in battle, and once he'd breathed out again, the blackness had shrunk away from the edge of his vision.

He spared one glance to the left, just in time to see Robert get conked out by a straight punch in the nose. He felt odd mix of guilt (it really was his own fault the fight was going on), amusement (at weedy, bookish Robert in a fight at all), and appreciation (at the good loyalty of his friend).

Edmund drew back his arm and hit the man in front of him with his best left hook. He got hit in the mouth for his pains, and tasted blood. Frustrated (and tired), he swung again and missed – but used the momentum to his advantage, spinning all the way round and whacking him one right near the liver. With his other arm, he swung his fist upwards and bloodied his nose, and the man stumbled backwards and lost his balance. He collapsed on his bum with his legs folded beneath him, and didn't get up.

Edmund's anger rose when he caught sight of his bespectacled friend sprawled out on the floor. Energy renewed, he turned to the remaining two that had put Robert out and unleashed his adrenaline. One of them was drunk off his mind; Edmund gave him a swift rabbit punch to the temple and he dropped to the floor. The other put up a good defence for a few minutes and Edmund was hit twice more on the sore spot on his shoulder, and received an additional bruise on his face. Keeping his own head clear, Edmund rammed his knee into the other man's thigh and delivered a well-aimed blow at his right cheek. Three more punches, and he was down.

Edmund abruptly became aware of the free space around him: he felt no more blows raining down on him from any direction. Had he defeated all his enemies? He looked, and saw only the crowd of people he'd barely noticed forming earlier. A second glance gave him the information he sought – there, across the room, was the only fellow left.

It had become deathly quiet. The last man stood some distance away, looking at his fallen comrades scattered around the room in varying states of consciousness. Some of them were nursing pretty nasty-looking wounds. His eyes darted back and forth – Edmund noticed that unlike himself, the presence of spectators was unnerving his opponent.

Edmund raised his arms wearily. This had been nowhere near his hardest fight, but all the same, he wanted to end the last round quickly. Lucy was still in need of care, and his own head was aching, his knuckles worn.

His opponent suddenly reached into his trouser leg and pulled out a pocket knife. The blade shone dull silver in the hazy light, the whole room grew even quieter. Quick as a flash, Edmund produced his own. But awakened at last were his upright values, and he knew that it would no longer be a fair grounding if they used the knives. As long as the blows were fists only, he could still be outmatched – it was unlikely, for he held a strong advantage, but still possible. However, if they were to face each other with weapons, the game was up. Edmund had been the second-most dangerous knight of his entire country. If he were to face this drunken coward, armed with a blade, he shouldn't deserve his title any longer. No Just king would consent to such a fight.

He sighed. "Listen, all right? I've taken you all with no help, and you can see you're done out. Do you really want to see what I can do with this?" Edmund twitched his pocket-knife in his left hand, and saw the man's eyes follow the movement.

Across the room, the grip on the other pocket-knife slackened. Shoulders slumped, and his would-be challenger turned and left the room. For a brief moment, Edmund felt the blaze of victory, the elation of combat championship – but the sensation passed quickly. The blade in his hand was no dagger, but a mere pocket-knife. With another sigh, he stowed it back in his trouser pocket.

The silence that followed was as thick as pudding. The entire room was staring at him; an awkward, uncomfortable tension filled the air. Edmund shuffled his feet and wiped his bloodied lip on his sleeve. He turned round the room, avoiding the eyes of others, looking for Lucy.

She was cowering behind an upturned table. Her eyes were wide, and she looked sick. "Ready?" he asked. Lucy nodded.

Edmund knelt and hefted Robert's limp form, slinging him across his back and ignoring the weak protests of his friend. His tired muscles objected – feats of strength always seemed to take more effort here than in Narnia – but they'd endured worse before, and there wasn't really a second option anyway. Edmund held his hand out to Lucy, staggering a little from the strain. The crowd parted mutely to allow them through to the doorway.

What with carrying Robert, and the pain in his right leg (he was limping a little), they couldn't move nearly fast enough as Edmund would have liked. He felt as though he were travelling on a conveyor belt, on display. Every pair of eyes were fixed on them. As they passed, soft murmurs broke the absolute silence; within moments the sound swelled into a buzz of ferocious whispering. Edmund heard the exclamations of awe, horror, and shock, and a terrific sense of stupidity came over him. He was furious with himself. How could he have done this?

They had always tried to avoid displays of their abilities in the past. Everyone agreed they certainly couldn't tell anyone the truth; it would be mad to even consider it. Were they to exhibit any of their unusual skills it would be the source of very awkward questions, for which there was no plausible explanation. As much as they hated to hide their true identities, it was the only thing for it. Far more important that their secrets were kept safe and out of the spotlight. But tonight, without thinking of consequence, he'd put on the performance of the season. Now a whole party had seen what he was capable of, and to them, it would be pretty unbelievable. He could practically hear tomorrow's gossip – "Susan Pevensie's brother, the quiet, brainy one? Faced off a whole gang at a party – and _won_."

Susan would have a fit at what he'd done in front of her friends, and Peter was sure to also disapprove – for not only had Edmund put his own reputation to shambles, he'd also endangered the whole family.

He sighed and shifted Robert on his shoulders, and the three of them made their way out of the house. The night air stung his injured face and he walked slowly, weighted down by the friend on his back and his heavy heart.

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**A/N: **Whew! Definitely not my style at all. . . but I did my best. What do you think – could Edmund really have pulled it off? Too bad Peter wasn't around to help!

Reviews are always appreciated.


	4. Peter in LBG

**A/N:** You guys asked for it - a scene with Peter. The continuity goes with the Director's Cut for Chapter 2.

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"It's me."

The door shut again and he heard the rattle of unlocking the security chain. It opened up and revealed Peter, sporting striped pyjamas and magnificently mussed hair. He rubbed his eyes sleepily. Half-yawning, he began to mumble something indistinctive, but then he started.

"Great Scott, Ed! What's happened to your face?"

Peter's reaction made him grimace. "It's rather a long story. . . Fancy a walk?" Edmund asked, eyeing behind his brother for a sign of the friend that shared his flat.

"No, it's all right. Come inside. Louis has the late hours tonight."

Edmund breathed a sigh of relief. "Excellent," he said as he stepped inside.

"Tea, Ed?" Peter offered, while he went about turning on the lamps. "Or something stronger?"

It was one of the few benefits of Peter's living on his own that they could enjoy a drink together – how they liked it – without arousing inquiries from the curious friends, or worse, their parents.

"Tea is fine. After the past few days, I'm rather disinclined to have a drink," Edmund said. It was an ominous statement, one which Peter could hardly miss. He saw his brother's shoulders stiffen slightly, and wished that he had come with better tidings.

At the small breakfast table, Edmund took the plusher, more comfortable chair of the mismatched set. He rested his eyes a little while Peter busied himself with the kettle. It was most unlike him to make tea first, and not demand information – but Edmund guessed he was probably feeling a little guilty. He'd turned up here with a pair of matching black eyes, a puffy, bruised face, and a split lip. And Peter wouldn't be Peter if he didn't take up the blame when any of them were hurt or in trouble, even if he were entirely faultless.

"All right, Ed," Peter said, as he settled into the rickety office chair with two steaming cups. "What's up? Who's the nervy git that's beat my brother to a pulp, so I can return the favour?"

Edmund sighed and took the tea. "There's no need. I started it."

The bottom of Peter's cup met the table with a thud. "On what grounds? I know you, you'd never start up a fight if you could help it."

"Well, that depends," said Edmund, blowing steam from the black surface of his tea. He gave his brother a pointed look. "What's the one reason we'd set off trouble, anytime, anywhere?"

"Ah," said Peter. "The girls." Then, once this sank in, he sat up quickly and asked, "They're all right, aren't they? Nothing's happened?"

"They're fine. Wouldn't I have said?" Edmund replied calmly, slightly affronted at this. "I'm the one you should be asking that." Almost to emphasise the fact, he rubbed a sore spot on the back of his neck that had been bothering him since the fight. The mottled bruise also kept him from sleeping peacefully – and was part of the reason he had come out in the dead of night seeking Peter's conversation.

"Of course," said Peter, resuming his normal tone now he had been assured Susan and Lucy's well-being. "My brother the practice bag."

"That's not exactly how it happened," Edmund said. "I held my own quite well, thank you."

Peter smirked. "I'm sure you did," he conceded. "Now, get on with it. Where did all this start?" He sat back in his chair, as if waiting for the story to be delivered into his royal lap. Edmund, however, was reluctant to begin the tale. It was rare that the pair of them were able to simply enjoy each other's company. Time and the demands of everyday life made it difficult for the whole family to be all together at once, let alone for them to have a good jaw just between the two of them.

Peter coughed, his impatient nature finally surfacing. "That black eye is pretty fine. Looks a only day or two fresh," he prompted. Edmund frowned at him. Clever observations weren't quite the same when they came from Peter instead of himself. "In fact," Peter went on, "you'll probably be even more black-and-blue twenty-four hours from now."

Edmund exhaled. "All right. It wasn't so much a few day ago as last night. And you're right about the bruises, too."

"Last night. . ." Peter said, giving him a look.

"Last night, at a party – "

"You hate parties," his brother interjected.

The statement needed no confirmation. Edmund raised his eyebrows, mutely asking permission to continue without interruption.

"Go on with it, Ed. Tell me. What's holding you up? Are you putting it off because you're afraid I'll be angry?" he said.

"No, I'm it putting off because you won't like what you'll hear. And I won't like saying it."

Peter stayed silent, but his brow contracted very slightly. There was no more goading now; the all-too-familiar look worry was beginning to form on his face.

"All right. At the party, I got into it with a bunch of Susan's friends, and it – well, it sort of turned into brawl. Me against the rest of them."

"What!" Peter exclaimed.

"I wasn't alone," he said quickly. "Robert helped a bit."

"That weedy friend of yours? The one that wears glasses?"

Edmund gave a laugh that sounded more like a groan. "Yes," he answered. "Jumped in to help when they got all on me. He lasted all of two minutes, but it was a noble effort."

There was a small moment of pause, in which the protective concern showed quite clearly on Peter's face. Despite his many injuries and the trouble he had dealt with last night, Edmund felt rather undeserving of it. He wasn't even hurt really; at least, not nearly as badly as he had been wounded in the past. Once Peter found out what really happened, it would put everything into larger perspective – his little cuts and bruises would be nothing next to Lucy's part.

"How many were there?" asked Peter.

"About ten," he answered. "The last one pulled his knife on me but I managed to talk him down."

Peter whistled and leaned back in his chair. "Ten? I say, Ed, it's a good thing you've still got it."

Edmund smiled, although with the marks on his face, it probably looked more like a grimace.

"They were drunk. And we've both faced worse," he said, rather unnecessarily.

"Yes. . . indeed," Peter murmured. His fingers moved absently to his left forearm, tracing the spot where an early battle wound had left a scar that ran from wrist to elbow. The mark had been permanent, at least until they had returned to England at their proper ages.

"But wait – you've still not told me what's the reason," he said.

"There it is," said Edmund. "Because once I do, you're going to wish I hadn't."

Unwilling to be further deterred, Peter answered, "All the more reason you should get on with it and tell me. What do the girls have to do with this?"

Edmund rubbed his chin, contemplating how best to broach the subject. "Yesterday evening, Susan was heading off to a party," he began. He wondered if Peter noticed the subtle change in his tone. "She insisted that Lucy come, and you know them both – she's persistent and Lucy's always willing. I didn't want her to, but without you around – " and here Edmund gave Peter a guilty look. He didn't want to blame his brother exactly, but he couldn't lie, either. "Without you around, I couldn't do anything to stop it. They left together, after Mum and Dad were in bed."

"Where was it?" Peter asked.

"An old house in Lower Morden. . ."

He frowned thoughtfully. "I may have been there before with Susan."

"Anyway, half an hour after they were due home, there was a ring from Robert – at the middle of the night – telling me Lucy's gotten herself drunk, and to get down there straightaway."

Across the table Peter opened his mouth to protest, but Edmund kept up, wanting to get most of the story out before his brother could say anything.

"Peter, it was awful. She was totally washed up, a complete mess. I came in and she was toasting Narnia in Aslan's name. Singing songs and telling the old stories. . . When she saw me, she raised her cup and addressed me by title."

Peter's mouth was slowly forming an 'O' of shock.

"I can't even fathom what she talked about before then. All of them were having laughs about fauns and Dryads, wardrobes and animals as courtiers. Even the High King."

Peter winced.

"Oh, God."

"It's worse."

Edmund took a slow, deep breath. "Do you know who she was telling all this? Bunch of blokes she'd just met, who weren't all that interested in what she was _saying_."

"No. . ." groaned Peter.

He swallowed. "Unfortunately, yes.

"Once I'd arrived she wouldn't agree to come home with me. And one of them – the leader, I think – had his hands on her. And Peter, I couldn't – I couldn't just stand there and watch. So I hit him."

Peter stood up rather quickly from the table and strode across the room. He rummaged around a cupboard for a moment, and came back carrying a bottle of Gordon's. Edmund waited for Peter to pour gin into his empty teacup and take a few calming sips before continuing.

"In all honesty, you'd have probably cracked well before I did," he said.

He could just imagine how everything would have gone over, had Peter been in his place. Likely he would have taken one look at the scene, and charged in with fists blazing. Edmund had at least attempted to come to things verbally – though admittedly, his patience had worn out quickly and he _had_ been the instigator. His brother was not the best negotiator under pressure, and Peter's better judgement usually flew out the window when it came to defending their sisters' honour.

After a moment, Peter said, "They didn't. . . she wasn't. . ."

"No," Edmund replied. "Though they certainly might have if I hadn't arrived in time. She was drinking, Peter. Letting it happen."

"No," declared Peter immediately, as Edmund had been sure he would. "Lucy would never allow it."

He sighed. Why did Peter insist on preserving Lucy as her innocent nine-year-old self, even when she had grown up not once, but twice before their eyes? "Think about it," said Edmund. "Have you ever seen Lucy drunk, really? Not just a cup of wine here or there; I mean completely sozzled – crying, whining, everything."

"No," he admitted.

"Exactly. And you must remember this _isn't_ how it was in Narnia. It wasn't merry toasting with friends and spirits – it was cheap wine and brandy, with the sort that Susan hangs around with. Don't forget that we've got a lot more troubles here than we ever did there, that are likely to come out at the worst times."

It was strange to be sitting there with his brother, talking of these unpleasant things. Only a few years ago, they would have laughed the idea aside – they were so close, there was nothing to fear! – and in Narnia it was even more ludicrous. In the old days, they had had many a nighttime congress dealing with one of Susan's pretentious suitors. Who could have foreseen that the problem plaguing their evenings in the future would be Susan herself?

Edmund fiddled with the handle of his empty cup. "Sometimes I remember her the way we used to be, and. . . I can hardly believe it. That she cares only about parties and boys, clothes, make-up. Not us. Not _Narnia._ And now not even Lucy."

An image of his younger sister, sprawled out and crying on the parquet, flashed before his eyes. Wordlessly, Edmund reached for the green bottle and poured a drink for himself. The lukewarm gin burned a trail of fire down his throat, almost matching the anger and bitterness aflame in his heart.

They sat in silence for a while, each to his own thoughts. As Edmund rather disliked thinking of what had transpired yesterday evening, his thoughts defaulted to Narnia, like they usually did in the unoccupied quiet. The gin had left a metallic aftertaste in his mouth, and he found himself mourning the days when a nightcap had meant mulled wine in front a fireplace. How far away it seemed.

Peter said, "I know she'll come round. She's got to."

"You can go on saying that until we're were all even older than we used to be, Peter, but you can't ignore the facts. Judging by what happened the other night, things are getting worse, not better."

"Did she apologize, at the very least? Show any remorse at all?" he asked.

"Not to me. To Lucy, maybe," Edmund replied. "I wouldn't count on it."

"And for Lucy, what does she think about Su? Maybe we've got it wrong; they could've got separated, or something. . . ?"

"Lucy doesn't _remember_ anything from that night, Peter. Not even the time she spent in the toilet crying, honking up everything she drank," he answered, more coldly than he'd intended.

A heavy silence hung in the air. Peter leaned forward and took his head in his hands, bracing his elbows on the table's edge. His shoulders hunched in a defeated slump, as if bearing an enormous weight. It was an extremely uncharacteristic posture for the High King, one that Edmund had seen on perhaps five occasions; during the direst times of their reign, and the night they came back through the wardrobe.

Peter spoke from behind his palms. "I don't know what's happening with us, Ed. I'm trying to hold us together – but it's harder than I thought it would be." His tone made Edmund instantly regret his harsh words moments ago.

"Buck up, Pete. You're a fine leader – Lu and I have always thought so."

Peter looked up. "But – "

"You can't make Susan's choices for her," Edmund interrupted, "and that's the problem. She doesn't want to be 'guided' or what have you. She'd rather go off with her parties and invitations and I'm all for letting her. It's only when she does something like this, that we need to step in for."

"She's just – lost sight of her priorities, that's all. We need to give her time, and I know she'll find Him."

Edmund bit the inside of his cheek. "He wouldn't want _this_, Peter. Not at all." He leaned forward. "Do you know, when she came home – nearly sunrise, I've have it said – she told me off for fighting in front of her friends!"

He sighed, and Edmund could see the weight on his shoulders again.

"But it's Susan," said Peter. "She doesn't mean any harm."

"This is _Lucy_," replied Edmund emphatically. "And good intentions do not justify poor decisions. Don't you go neglecting your own role, Peter. You've got to focus on the whole picture. Lucy still follows you willingly, as do I. There's no use in chasing after what's already lost."

Peter opened his mouth but did not speak, and Edmund saw that his words were finally having an effect. He seized the opening. "The indirect approach doesn't work for you, Peter. One of us needs to act. Obviously I'd prefer it be you, as she hasn't listened to my advice for years."

The indecision on his face was all the agreement Edmund needed. He had come tonight to make a point, which was to help Peter see that everything was _not_ all right, and to get his support when it came to dealing with Susan. Both had been accomplished, which was more than he had hoped for. And truth be told, now that he'd done so, he didn't really want to dwell on it.

"It doesn't really do much good talking about it. And if _you_ can't talk any sense into her, no one can." Edmund frowned at his watch. "I'd better get the car home," he said, getting slowly to his feet."

Peter rose also, and they went towards the door.

"But half a moment, Ed," he said, halting his hand over the locking chain. "Oughtn't you to stay here tonight? It _is_ rather late, and I can tell you're beat tired. You shouldn't drive home like this."

Edmund was touched, annoyed, and unsurprised at his brother's words. He smiled. "I'm all right, Peter, and there is Lucy to think of. She's still pretty upset about what's happened. She feels guilty. . ." Technically, it wasn't a lie. "You'll not mention I told you all this, right? Lu would probably feel worse if she knew you'd found out."

Peter nodded and uncrossed his arms.

"You're right, of course. Come here," he said, and pulled Edmund into a tight embrace.

"I really could have used you in that fight," he mumbled, and Peter chuckled.

"I'm sure you're buffing it up to be twice as rough as it really was," said Peter as they broke apart, giving him a friendly smack on the shoulder.

Edmund winced. "Forgot about the bruises, Pete?" he asked. Peter gave him a apologetic look. "Remember you've got three years on me. I miss my muscles," he added, looking wistfully at his biceps.

Peter chuckled. Edmund met his eyes, and the two shared a brief moment of reminiscence, back to a time when their nightly discussions happened in state drawing rooms instead of dingy flats, and all their problems could be solved with a clever plan and a pair of swords.

"Drive safely," said Peter softly.

Edmund turned and walked out into the dark.

* * *

**A/N: **This was difficult for me to write. I kept coming up with little bits of random dialogue and desciption - hopefully I managed to fit them all together naturally. It still feels a little disjointed to me. Plus it's mostly dialog, where my stories tend to be more internalized conflict.


	5. Forward Long Version

Lucy sat outside on one of the benches in small garden behind the school kitchens. The courtyard gardens were much nicer, but the one back behind the kitchens was ideal for solitude. It was an overlooked sort of place; nothing much grew besides a few herbs that weren't tended often. Nobody ever came by except for an old yellow tabby, which was the kind of company Lucy liked when she was upset.

Hugging her knees to her chest, she looked for all the world a lonely schoolgirl, which was exactly what she was – only she wasn't. She _was_ homesick, but missing Narnia was only part of why she was troubled. She was thinking of what she had learned when she and her mother had gone to Aunt Alberta's for tea. It had been many weeks previous, before the start of term, but she still felt the same numbing shock.

"_He loved you, you know," Eustace says casually, unaware that his words pierce her fragile heart. "Asked Edmund's permission and all of it – he wanted a betrothal, until you were older. He harped on and on about it while you were upstairs at Coriakin's. And even though he wasn't too keen on the idea, we both saw that he meant it, and Edmund agreed in the end. But Caspian couldn't tell you – you had to find it your own, that was the condition. I suppose we just ran out of time."_

Ran out time. Never come back to Narnia. The worst thing he could have said. . . She squeezed her eyes shut tight. Hearing it after the fact was ten times worse than knowing at all.

She had already been melancholy since coming back – trying to embrace this life as Aslan had commanded, but unable to let go of her time on the Dawn Treader or the look in Caspian's eyes at their final parting. Because even though she had always known they would be returning, even though she knew she shouldn't, Lucy fell in love with him. And then the three of them had gone back to England.

But to find out that all the while he felt the same! It changed everything about the voyage. All she had said, everything they had done together, they way that she acted around him. . . different, now, to know that he had felt the same. It was so much more to lose.

"_Lu," says Edmund, and she turns round again to face him. His eyes are wary. "I know you're hoping we might stay much longer this time, but we mustn't expect it to be anything. Aslan could choose to take us back at any moment. I know how badly you'd like to get to see Narnia again, and I think – I think there's another reason, too. But there aren't any guarantees. Just remember that, before you make any promises."_

There wasn't anybody around and it was nearing darkness, but Lucy buried her face in her arms anyway. Edmund _had_ known after all, and he must have been watching even more closely than she'd suspected. Even Eustace had known! So they had all been watching her: Edmund, Eustace, Caspian. . . And she had imagined she hid it so well.

How foolish she was! They would have seen her blushing, her soft smiles, and known the source. It made her more a child than ever. Of course she would not know; she went forward guided by her heart, unperturbed by implication, never looking for underhand. Oh, to go back and do it over again. . . but then, she had never meant it to happen in the first place.

_She watches him. She sees his free and easy manner, his cheery laugh, his newly-born confidence. She sometimes thinks that this is what Peter would have been like, had he not been weighted with such responsibility all his life. Caspian is a merry king; she is glad that Narnia has his good heart to lead them. He is handsome too, but she pushes that thought aside._

Lucy rested her cheek over her folded arms, thinking of how it all began. He was already her dear friend and she loved him, in a way, from the very start. And as the days passed she found that she cared for him more deeply. She tried to avoid the feeling at first, of course, because they always knew they would be returning.

It was her nature. Lucy was a feeling girl, and she couldn't stop herself from loving. Peter used to say that love spread out from her like sunshine. It was very true: Lucy made new friends wherever she went. Each time she went to Narnia she found more people to hold in her heart. More people, she reflected, to leave behind.

_It never bothered her much before, having to go back and start again, to be the girl she has already grown out of. Here she feels the difference more acutely. Something in his smile and the sparkle of his eyes makes her long for the days when she was tall and shapely, when men called her more beautiful than the stars._

Whatever her feelings, she had known the wisdom of keeping them to herself. She wanted most to spare his feelings, and perhaps protect her own. This love was new and strange. It was different from what she recalled of her old life. There had been no exchange of jewels or trinkets, none of the customs of courtly affection. Even without them she felt an incredible connection, a draw beyond those fancies.

They were so alike! So often he had finished her thought, or spoken the very thing in her mind. They had the same spirit, the same wanderlust. A love for thrill and adventure and discovery. He was a dreamer just the same as she. With Caspian, she could talk of things she couldn't with Peter or Susan or Edmund; of wonder, of colour, of feeling.

"_You might be gone tomorrow, and yet. . ." Caspian leaves this sentence unfinished. He looks very young suddenly, vulnerable, as if he does not understand the meaning of his own words. His arm is warm beside hers, and she feels a strange compulsion to take his hand in her own. She knows better than to act on it. Moments pass and his expression fades away. Her heart burns and she struggles, wanting more than ever to reach out to him._

Her eyes closed. How she would have loved the time to grow up once more, the chance to fall in love, together. She knew it was not right to hope for it; after all, she had already lived out an entire life. It was selfish to expect another. All the same, she had hoped, and here she was. Not exactly brokenhearted, not quite bitter. Not sad. Only wishing there had been another way.

Even now, when hope was long dashed and Caspian himself long dead, she wondered. What if they had not come back? What if she had been older? Eustace's words echoed through her mind: "He wanted a betrothal, until you were older." She looked to the west, where the sun was setting behind the trees. What if she had thrown wisdom to the winds and declared her heart?

_She should not feel this way. But she knows things, remembers things from a time when she was even older than Caspian. Memories flit through her mind: being twirled across the marble floor, gentle fingers that lace her corset, the taste of a man's lips on hers. Caspian smiles and her breath catches, but she checks herself. Only a girl, only eleven, only a child that knows nothing of love. . ._

Long ago she had been a queen of legends. Golden and beautiful and eloquent, a woman worthy of him. She had lived then with hardly a care for love. It was unjust irony in so many ways. How many suitors, great men and kings and princes, had she turned away? Only to find the one she loved during so a finite journey, when she was made a child again and he was intended for another.

It was silly to be upset. Caspian had returned to Narnia and married and lived. Lucy had her life in England. But she dwelt still on the voyage, on the secrets on both sides, on the dreams forever unfulfilled. Aslan had brought them back and the implication was clear; theirs was not a love to last. It was never even acknowledged.

_Caspian comes to say good-bye, tears in his eyes. There is a long moment of silence, and then he pulls her into his arms with terrible finality. She wishes she could stay there forever. Suddenly she understands everything – how he feels, how she feels – and she realises, without a shred of doubt, that they will never meet again. It makes her bolder. She reaches up and takes his face in her hands: Their first kiss, and their last._

The matron's voice called faintly. Lucy went inside.

* * *

**A/N: **This definitely has a weird rhythm, and the oneshot-writing was extremely forced. Fitting a story around the flashbacks (which were very easy for me to write) just felt wrong, so I eventually ditched everything except for those bits. I couldn't think of a title for the piece, so I called it Forward because I had to reorganize everything consecutively. Snort.


	6. Aeons

**A/N:** This began as an unexpected out-of-nowhere dialogue. After some refining became a lighthearted little pre-romance conversation. I was extremely tempted to post this as a oneshot, but it's a bit too brief to stand on all its own, so it ended up over here. It was the first of my 'Conversations' pieces, originally titled 'Lucy and Caspian discuss age'. Enjoy.

* * *

"How old are you, Lucy?"

Her returning smile had a touch of wistfulness. "I don't know exactly. I'm eleven, I suppose, but it seems different in Narnia. I've already grown up here."

She paused. "I don't _feel_ eleven."

Caspian thought for a moment. He remembered her accomplishment with blade and bow, the advice she offered in the tone of an experienced monarch, and her unquestionable bravery in the face of storm, sea-serpent, dragon and magician.

"Nor do you comport yourself so," he said. "How old were you at the end of your reign?"

"Twenty-three," she said softly.

He stared at her. Twenty-three was even older than he'd expected. Caspian suddenly felt very silly sitting beside her, as though the condescension had been reversed. In many ways he thought of Lucy as a younger sister, but he now realised it may very well be the other way round.

"That must be mixed up," he replied.

Lucy gave a nearly imperceptible nod. Her eyes were distant, and Caspian had the impression that her mind and memory were far away in another age.

"I feel. . . quite muddled," she said, meeting his gaze again. "I don't know where I am, or which to be."

"Perhaps you're at the middle. That would be. . ." He frowned, trying to figure the sum in his head.

Her brow wrinkled in thought. "Seventeen," she answered.

"Why, you're the same age as me!" he laughed.

Lucy smiled widely. "I suppose I am."

* * *

**A/N: **The point here was to give Caspian and Lucy some even grounding, since most of the outcry against the Lucian pairing is because of the age gap. Hopefully this offers a fluffy little solution.


	7. Mind to Heart

**A/N: **This is a little sibling fic I wrote as part of my 'Conversations' series, which used the working title 'Edmund and Lucy discuss Caspian'. As such it lacks any sort of plot direction, but I do like the idea that Edmund saw the potential for romance before Lucy realized it herself – and I can so see him trying to dissuade her from the possibility. Preventative measure seems very Edmund. Enjoy.

* * *

"So," Lucy said, "what do you think of Caspian?"

"You're too old for him," said Edmund promptly. "And he's got that temper."

Lucy laughed because she knew it was what Edmund was after, though she thought it a rather poor joke. _Caspian and I? How silly!_

"No, goose," she said. "I meant what you think about _him_. How he's doing, you know. There were four of us – I don't know that I could have done it alone."

Edmund's brow contracted slightly as he considered. "Well, things were sort of different then. I don't know that we _needed_ all four of us. It was just convenient to have someone still there to rule if, say, a few of us were done off with in Tashbaan."

"Edmund!" cried Lucy, though she too was smiling.

"You know, there were only a king and a queen until we came along. Now it shall be that way again. If Caspian marries," he added.

"Oh, he will," said Lucy, and Edmund looked at her strangely. "Don't you get the feeling he's rather lonely? His aunt and uncle were awful, his parents are dead, and he hasn't any brothers or sisters. Of course he'll get married."

"And Narnia is anxious for an heir, can't forget that."

Lucy smiled. "They were like that in our day as well."

"Yes," said Edmund, "and they were right after all, weren't they? We left no heir behind and look what happened. . ."

"Ed," said Lucy with reproachful eyes; she did not like such blunt reminders of what Narnia had suffered in wake of their disappearance.

"Sorry, Lu. But it is the truth."

"Yes," answered Lucy soberly. "Perhaps it is best if Caspian finds a bride on this voyage after all."

"Just as long as he doesn't find it on this ship," said Edmund.

"Edmund!" Lucy exclaimed. "What _is_ going on? And what did you mean, I'm too old for him? He's much older than I am!"

"Not really," said Edmund seriously. "You're about ten years older really, so don't you go getting any ideas. He's young for you yet."

And with that, Edmund hopped down from the window and left without another word. Lucy stared after him.

_Caspian and I? How silly. . ._


End file.
